


Photo Finish

by LilyK



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen, transcript
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyK/pseuds/LilyK
Summary: Starsky and Hutch discover that a photographer’s life could be in danger after she takes a picture of a possible killer at a high society party.
Kudos: 2
Collections: Starsky & Hutch Original Series Transcripts





	Photo Finish


    PHOTO FINISH
    
    Season 4, Episode 4
    
    Original Airdate: October 10, 1978
    
    Teleplay by: Robert E. Swanson
    Story by: Michael I. Wagner and Robert E. Swanson
    Story Editor: Rick Edelstein
    Created by: William Blinn
    Directed by: Sutton Roley
    
    Summary: Starsky and Hutch discover that a photographer’s life could be in danger after she takes a picture of a possible killer at a high society party. 
    
    Cast: 
    

David Soul ... Det. Ken 'Hutch' Hutchinson

Paul Michael Glaser ... Det. Dave Starsky

Antonio Fargas ... Huggy Bear

Bernie Hamilton ... Capt. Harold Dobey

Graham Jarvis ... Basil Monk

Britt Lind ... Marcie Fletcher (as Brit Lind)

Shera Danese ... Nicole Monk

Fran Ryan ... Landlady

Lois Hamilton ... Paula (as Lois Areno)

Sally Kirkland ... Greta Wren / Dora Pruitt

Hank Brandt ... John Reinhardt

Anne O'Donnell ... Secretary

Jayson Kane ... Troy Braddock

Eldon Burke ... Officer Burke
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Formal Wear Shop**
    
    STARSKY: I don't know, Marcie. Maybe we oughta go get a pizza and hang out at the pier today.
    
    FLETCHER: But I have to make this party, David. My public relations firm is handling the guest of honor.
    
    STARSKY: I know. I just don't think I'll fit in.
    
    HUTCH: Of course you will. Throw a towel over your arm and learn to bow from the waist. 
    
    FLETCHER: Oh, don't listen to him. You look gorgeous.
    
    STARSKY: Yeah?
    
    FLETCHER: Yeah. Right out of Gentlemen's Quarterly.
    
    STARSKY: Really?
    
    HUTCH: Yeah. Or the Lounge Lizard Monthly.
    
    FLETCHER: I wish you'd reconsider and go with us.
    
    HUTCH: Oh, of course not. I'm not gonna go to any society function. That's for the penguin here, not me.
    
    STARSKY: He'd be over his head anyway. Doesn't know how to handle himself in style.
    
    FLETCHER: Oh, come on, Hutch. Paula's gonna be there.
    
    HUTCH: Paula?
    
    FLETCHER: I know she doesn't have a date.
    
    HUTCH: Does not ring a bell.
    
    STARSKY: You met her outside the PR office.
    
    HUTCH: The one with the legs? 
    
    STARSKY: Now it rings a bell.
    
    FLETCHER: She's really my boss. Account executive handling Troy Braddock, the artist they're throwing the party's for.
    
    HUTCH: The one with the eyes?
    
    FLETCHER: She thought you were interesting.
    
    HUTCH: Really? Well...  Um, excuse me, sir. Can I see you? Uh, do you have another one of those costumes in a size 40?
    
    STARSKY: Uh, wait a minute. Um... Look, y-you just said this thing was strictly by invitation. How--? How are we gonna get him in?
    
    FLETCHER: Same way I'm getting you in. I'll say he works for the PR firm.
    
    HUTCH: Excuse me. There. How's that look?
    
    STARSKY: Like a very small tip.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Monk's Mansion**
    
    BRADDOCK: Your hubby's giving us the old fish-eye again.
    
    NICOLE: Right. He's so irritating when he sulks. If he creates a scene, I'm moving right to the beach house. Permanently.
    
    BRADDOCK: Just brazen it out, baby. Basil married you for your youth and beauty. He could hardly expect fidelity.
    
    HUTCH: Starsky, reel your tongue back in your mouth, will you, before I think you're actually impressed by all this.
    
    STARSKY: No, I'm not. It's just that, uh... the rich are really different.
    
    HUTCH: Sure they are. They pay less taxes.
    
    FLETCHER: That's our client, Troy Braddock, over there.
    
    HUTCH: Where? 
    
    STARSKY: The painter?
    
    FLETCHER: Over there.
    
    STARSKY: He's a painter, right?
    
    FLETCHER: Hottest thing since Andy Warhol. New money's falling all over him, and old money's thinking of investing.
    
    STARSKY: Hm.
    
    HUTCH: Who's the blond gem on his right?
    
    FLETCHER: Our hostess, Mrs. Basil Monk...
    
    HUTCH: Oh.
    
    FLETCHER: ...wife of the famous toy manufacturer.
    
    STARSKY: Kind of cozy, aren't they?
    
    FLETCHER: Braddock has a theory: The best way to a collector's pocketbook is through his wife's bed.
    
    HUTCH: Well, why break up a winning combination, I always say.
    
    FLETCHER: Paula, you know David.
    
    STARSKY: How do you do?
    
    FLETCHER: And this is Ken Hutchinson, who you met last week.
    
    PAULA: From across the room you look like a chairman of the board.
    
    HUTCH: Well. Are you ripe for a corporate takeover?
    
    PAULA: I'd settle for a snack and a bottle of wine when the party's over. In the meantime, we've gotta get to work. Get shots of everybody. I've gotta make a phone call. Why don't you guys just mingle for a while.
    
    HUTCH: Well, Starsky, suck in your cheeks and take tiny steps. What? 
    
    STARSKY: Tuxedo was worth every penny I paid for it. Catch all the looks I've been getting? Hm?
    
    HUTCH: Yeah. I guess the tag is a little hard to see.
    
    STARSKY: What tag?
    
    HUTCH: The one on your back. Says "rental."
    
    STARSKY: Well, don't just stand there. Rip it off. Someday, some way, I'm gonna pay you back.
    
    HUTCH: Yeah, well, Starsky, look, uh, why don't you just stand there with your hands behind your back, and somebody'll think you're...important.
    
    STARSKY: Hi.
    
    HUTCH: Oh, hi.
    
    STARSKY: Um...
    
    HUTCH: Thank you.
     
    STARSKY: Uh... Let me.
    
    HUTCH: Drinks are complimentary, Starsky.
    
    STARSKY: Hm? Oh.
    
    SERVER: Thank you, sir.
    
    STARSKY: It's nothing.
    
    SERVER: You know, I hate these parties. Everybody's so fussy, and nobody ever leaves any tips.
    
    HUTCH: Well, what's money for if you can't make somebody happy?
    
    STARSKY: Well, ah... What is it?
    
    MONK: Garbage. What does it look like?
    
    STARSKY: Hm. How much, uh... that piece of garbage set you back?
    
    MONK: My dear wife paid 20,000.
    
    STARSKY: Twenty thousand's quite a loaf. 
    
    HUTCH: Keeps out the riffraff, huh?
    
    BRADDOCK: Ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and gentlemen, I should like to propose a toast to Nicole Monk, the proud new owner of one of the finest investments of the world of art: A Troy Braddock. A Troy Braddock--
    
    HUTCH: Police. Police. Step back. Step back. Step back.
    
    GUEST: Can we get a doctor?
    
    GUEST #2: Can you get a doctor?
    
    STARSKY: Shh! It's all right. Please.
    
    HUTCH: Quiet! Sir, would you take care of the lady, please? He's dead.
    
    GUEST #3: What do you mean he's dead? The man can't be dead. He was just shot.
    
    HUTCH: Calm down! 
    
    GUEST #3: I just saw him being shot!
    
    HUTCH: Party's over. Everybody just calm down.
    
    STARSKY: Marcie, I'm gonna need that film you shot.
    
    FLETCHER: After I develop it.
    
    STARSKY: Police lab will do it.
    
    FLETCHER: I can handle it.
     
    FLETCHER: I know you can, but I want it.
    
    FLETCHER: And I want a blue Rolls-Royce with a cream-colored top.
    
    STARSKY: Right there, folks. Somebody's been killed.
    
    FLETCHER: Hey, I'm not the killer, Dave. I-- I'm just a lady photographer trying to get a break. And this film just might put me over. Why couldn't you guys have been dentists or something?
    
    
    **Exterior - Day - In A Cab**
    
    FLETCHER: Keep the change.
    
    
    **Interior - Night - Squad Room**
    
    HUTCH: Look, Starsky, I really am sorry about the monkey suit--
    
    STARSKY: Hey. I got a seamstress. She's gonna fix it up fine. They'll never know the difference. Did you bring me my chili dog?
    
    HUTCH: Oh, yeah, right here.
    
    STARSKY: Thank you. 
    
    HUTCH: Now, you know what you might try? You might, uh, just turn the jacket around.
    
    STARSKY: Look. I rented this tuxedo. It's my responsibility, okay?
    
    HUTCH: Okay.
    
    STARSKY: I'll suffer the consequences, okay?
    
    HUTCH: Okay.
    
    STARSKY: You don't have to say anything more about it.
    
    HUTCH: Well, they sure don't make buns like they used to, huh?
    
    DOBEY: Well, well, well. Operations give us a new dress code?
    
    HUTCH: I thought you'd appreciate it, Captain.
    
    DOBEY: Starsky, you know--
    
    STARSKY: I know, I know!
    
    NUTCH: He knows.
    
    DOBEY: All right, what we got here?
    
    HUTCH: Uh... Well, we have got the, um... We have the cream of the society blue book, Captain. But nobody saw diddlysquat. Has all the earmarks of a professional hit, but nobody in this group looks like a pro.
    
    STARSKY: I figured if we could crash the party, somebody else could.
    
    DOBEY: What about the hired help?
    
    STARSKY: Well, we already went over that list, but we're gonna talk to them again.
    
    DOBEY: This Braddock, does he have enemies?
    
    HUTCH: Well, word has it that he sells most of his art-- or he sold most of his art --through collectors' wives, in bed.
    
    STARSKY: We figured somebody called in a marriage counselor, with a gun.
    
    DOBEY: All right, go ahead and do your thing. But remember, you're not busting pimps and prostitutes up on the strip. I don't want any complaints from the commissioner's office.
    
    STARSKY: The velvet glove approach, Captain.
    
    HUTCH: Soul of discretion, right?
    
    DOBEY: Starsky.
    
    STARSKY: Yeah.
    
    DOBEY: Get a safety pin. I want my guys to look neat.
    
    HUTCH: Just suck in your cheeks and take tiny steps.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Monk's Mansion**
    
    NICOLE: All invited. Except for the two of you, of course.
    
    HUTTCH: Is there anybody in those photographs that you don't know?
    
    NICOLE: A few I wish I didn't know. But nobody tacky enough to murder the guest of honor.
    
    STARSKY: We've heard that some people weren't too fond of Braddock.
    
    NICOLE: You mean like a jealous husband? Now, who would murder poor Troy over something like that?
    
    STARSKY: A bad sport?
    
    HUTCH: Suppose somebody brought in a paid killer.
    
    NICOLE: To my party? What a fantastically romantic idea.
    
    STARSKY: Take your husband, for instance. We heard that Troy Braddock and you were, uh...
    
    NICOLE: Rubbing elbows?
    
    STARSKY: Mm-hm.
    
    NICOLE: Well, you can forget Basil as a suspect. He's an absolute mouse. He's great with dialogue, but lousy in the action department. I found that out the hard way.
    
    HUTCH: Uh...is your husband at home?
    
    NICOLE: No, he's at some toy factory or something. Would you excuse me? I'm in the midst of packing.
    
    HUTCH: You're taking a trip, huh?
    
    NICOLE: Just to my beach house. The butler, Harvey, will give you the address if you have any further need of me.
    
    STARSKY: How thoughtful.
    
    NICOLE: Oh, and bring your swimsuits. I'll bet you look fantastic with bare knees.
    
    HUTCH: Is that both of us or one at a time?
    
    NICOLE: Whatever.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Fletcher's Apartment**
    
    REINHARDT: (on phone) Reinhardt.
    
    FLETCHER: Mr. Reinhardt, this is Marcie Fletcher. And I've been trying to get you all morning. Have you heard about the Braddock murder?
    
    REINHARDT: Yeah, I got it on the wire.
    
    FLETCHER: I've got a photo, and it's dynamite.
    
    REINHARDT: Wait a minute, I thought the police confiscated the film.
    
    FLETCHER: They don't have this one. It's the Ruby-Oswald photo of the '70s. Braddock hitting the floor.
    
    REINHARDT: Well, I'd have to see the photograph.
    
    FLETCHER: I'll be there in half an hour.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - News World Office**
    
    REINHARDT: Incredible. This is a once-in-a-lifetime photograph.
    
    FLETCHER: Let's hope it's the first of many.
    
    REINHARDT: We'll want the negative and all rights.
    
    FLETCHER: Sorry. I'm keeping negative rights.
    
    REINHARDT: All right. I can't really blame you for that. On this one anyway. I'll call Accounting and have them draw you a check.
    
    FLETCHER: And full photo credit?
    
    REINHARDT: You got it. Call Pat. Have him drop the Farrah cover. I got something a little fresher.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Fletcher's Apartment**
    
    FLETCHER: What are you doing here? Don't you need a warrant to break down a door?
    
    HUTCH: You might try locking it, Marcie.
    
    FLETCHER: My door locks automatically when I leave. And this morning was no exception.
    
    STARSKY: It certainly was an exception. Your apartment's been broken into.
    
    FLETCHER: Which gives you no right to invade other people's property. And what the hell did you have to do this for? You tear the place up looking for what? You're now treading on thin ice, guys.
    
    STARSKY: Who you calling?
    
    FLETCHER: I have a friend who's a budding attorney, who would just love to cut his teeth on a couple of overeager cops violating--
    
    STARSKY: There's a reason why somebody broke into your apartment and rousted your darkroom.
    
    HUTCH: What is it?
    
    FLETCHER: Why don't you ask my attorney.
    
    
    **Exterior - Day - Fletcher's Apartment**
    
    STARSKY: Marcie, look-- Marcie, look out! Marcie.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Fletcher's Apartment**
    
    HUTCH: (on phone) It was a dark green sedan, Al. Uh-uh. No, I didn't get the license number. Look, why don't you check, uh... Check the rental companies or something. Yeah. (end)
    
    STARSKY: Drink this.
    
    FLETCHER: I don't believe the way some people drive.
    
    HUTCH: Uh, it's pretty simple, Marcie. Somebody tried to kill you.
    
    STARSKY: The question is why.
    
    FLETCHER: All right, so I held out a roll of film. Do you have any idea of how hard it is for a woman to make it in my business? And I knew I had something sensational. It was my first big sale.
    
    HUTCH: So you sold it, huh? To whom?
    
    FLETCHER: News World Magazine.
    
    HUTCH: Oh, boy.
    
    FLETCHER: But I only sold one print.
    
    STARSKY: Where's the negative?
    
    FLETCHER: In a safe place. Well, relatively safe.
    
    STARSKY: Can you make a print of that?
    
    FLETCHER: I guess so. All the chemicals are still there.
    
    HUTCH: Better get her some protection.
    
    STARSKY: Yep.
    
    FLETCHER: It's a knockout photo. There's nothing in here that implicates a killer.
    
    STARSKY: Now, you took this with a flash right after Braddock was hit, right?
    
    FLETCHER: Right.
    
    STARSKY: Okay. Somebody pops him with a silenced automatic, and right after they see the flash.
    
    FLETCHER: You mean the killer only thinks he's in the picture.
    
    HUTCH: Well, there's no way that the killer would know what lens you were using, would he?
    
    STARSKY: He'd have to see the picture to be sure.
    
    HUTCH: Help has arrived. Yeah?
    
    BURKE: Burke.
    
    STARSKY: Take good care of her, Burke. She's got a promising career ahead of her.
    
    FLETCHER: Where are you going?
    
    HUTCH: Back to the high-rent district.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Monk's Mansion**
    
    MONK: But if you remember, I was talking to you when Braddock got his just desserts. Though, if I remember, you were a touch less gamy yesterday.
    
    STARSKY: We know that you didn't pull the trigger, Mr. Funk.
    
    MONK: It's Monk. Monk.
    
    STARSKY: Monk. Yet we understand that Mr. Braddock was kind of cozy with your wife.
    
    MONK: Well, if that's a motive to kill him, then you'd have to put half the art collectors on the West Coast in jail and half the artists in protective custody.
    
    HUTCH: Mr. Monk, all these Braddocks you have around here must've cost you a pretty bundle, huh?
    
    MONK: No talent really. I wonder if it's true that an artist's death increases the value of his work.
    
    STARSKY: Yeah. What kind of car do you drive, mister, uh... Monk?
    
    MONK: I don't. Driving frightens me to death.
    
    STARSKY: You know, Mr. Monk, we're gonna collar the guy that pulled the trigger. And they never like to go down alone.
    
    HUTCH: They always seem to finger the man with the money, you know.
    
    MONK: Well, if you're implying that I had anything to do with it, put it out of your minds. Violence appalls me. I'm a devout coward.
    
    STARSKY: A lot of people are cowards, Mr. Monk. That's why they invented the hit man.
    
    MONK: Harvey, show the gentlemen out.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Fletcher's Apartment**
    
    BURKE: There's a lady here, miss. Says she's a business associate.
    
    FLETCHER: All right.
    
    WREN: I'm not sure that we've actually met, Miss Fletcher, but perhaps you've heard of me? Greta Wren, from the Women's Fashion Magazine.
    
    FLETCHER: Oh, yes, of course. Just a second. Come in.
    
    WREN: Thank you.
    
    FLETCHER: It's all right.
    
    WREN: Have you had some trouble?
    
    FLETCHER: Nothing serious. Just a precaution.
    
    WREN: Well, I do believe that you are the person I wanna talk to. Do call me Greta because I'm gonna call you Marcie. And we must get right down to business. Now, I understand that you have an absolutely spectacular photograph of Troy Braddock. Gorgeous man, don't you think? Particularly in extremis.
    
    FLETCHER: Word travels fast, doesn't it? 
    
    WREN: I can't tell you how I found out. We are not allowed to disclose our sources. But suffice it to say that we also are doing a cover story of Braddock. I don't know if anyone's made you an offer. But I'm willing to give you $10,000 for the negative rights.
    
    FLETCHER: That's more than all the pictures I've sold put together.
    
    WREN: That's assuming that it's good quality.
    
    FLETCHER: Uh, I can't.
    
    WREN: Why not?
    
    FLETCHER: I've already sold first print.
    
    WREN: To whom?
    
    FLETCHER: I don't know if I should say.
    
    WREN: Marcie, my child, we'll buy them out. To whom? How much?
    
    FLETCHER: John Reinhardt. News World Magazine.
    
    WREN: News World Magazine. Three days we go to press, I'll give you $10,000 for the negative.
    
    FLETCHER: I really wanna keep the negative. With foreign rights, reprints, it might be worth three or four times that much.
    
    WREN: Marcie, my darling. We will give you a royalty agreement. You can have your attorney check it out.
    
    FLETCHER: I'm sorry, Miss Wren, but it's a police matter now. I'm not even supposed to show it to anyone.
    
    BURKE: You have another friend here, ma'am.
    
    FLETCHER: Okay. Hi.
    
    PAULA: Hi.
    
    FLETCHER: Paula, this is Greta Wren.
    
    WREN: How do you do? It's nice to meet you.
    
    PAULA: How do you do?
    
    WREN: Marcie, I do hope that you'll change your mind. I'll be in touch.
    
    PAULA: Wow, so that's the famous Greta Wren. 
    
    FLETCHER: Boy, she sure is well-preserved for a gal that's gotta be hitting 50. 
    
    PAULA: Now, tell me about your big score at News World.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - News World Office**
    
    STARSKY: Excuse us!
    
    SECRETARY: Oh, my God! Oh, you scared me.
    
    STARSKY: It's all right.
    
    HUTCH: I'm sorry? What?
    
    SECRETARY: Hello.
    
    STARSKY: Hello. Um... Uh, we're here-- We're here to see, uh, Mr. Reinhardt.
    
    SECRETARY: Oh, I-- I'm sorry. Mr. Reinhardt hasn't come in yet. I-- I just came in myself.
    
    HUTCH: There's a lot of noise in here, isn't there?
    
    SECRETARY: Oh, yeah. It's been going on for weeks. They're doing some redecorating on the floor above. I can't stand it.
    
    STARSKY: No kidding. 
    
    HUTCH: Now, look, uh... Mr. Reinhardt bought a picture from a Marcie Fletcher last night.
    
    SECRETARY: Who?
    
    STARSKY: Marcie Fletcher!
    
    HUTCH: A picture. He bought it from her last night.
    
    SECRETARY: I'm sorry. I don't know anything about that. I just got in.
    
    STARSKY: We'll wait.
    
    SECRETARY: Oh, all right. Uh. Um, Mr. Reinhardt, uh, usually works till about midnight.
    
    HUTCH: What?
    
    SECRETARY: Mr. Reinhardt works till about midnight. I don't expect him--
    
    HUTCH: We'll still wait. We'll still wait.
    
    SECRETARY All right, uh... Yeah-- Do you mind if I, uh--? Do you mind if I do this? Excuse me. Excuse me. His name's Boris.
    
    HUTCH: Boris.
    
    STARSKY: She fainted.
    
    HUTCH: This one's dead.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Squad Room**
    
    HUTCH: Ballistics says that Reinhardt was killed with the same caliber bullet as Braddock.
    
    DOBEY: Okay. Let's try the other end of the contract: the employer. You got anything?
    
    HUTCH: A host of contenders, Captain.
    
    STARSKY: We got our "Most Likely to Succeed": Basil Monk.
    
    HUTCH: Yeah, we ran a bank check on him.
    
    DOBEY: You did what?
    
    HUTCH: We had a warrant, don't worry.
    
    DOBEY: You always say you have a warrant.
    
    STARSKY: It seems that Mr. Monk hit his bank account for 30,000 smackeroos.
    
    DOBEY: So what? Guys in his class spend that much on decorations.
    
    HUTCH: It was cash, Captain. Even his accountant didn't know about it.
    
    DOBEY: That and a receipt will get you into court... on a false arrest.
    
    HUTCH: Yeah. I'm gonna go shake, uh, Basil-baby up a little bit. Why don't you keep checking on the catering staff.
    
    STARSKY: Oh, come on. Any clown could have put on a black jacket and gotten into that party.
    
    HUTCH: Well, it worked for you, didn't it?
    
    
    **Exterior - Day - Monk's Mansion**
    
    MONK: I lost it at backgammon. A friend and I play here each Thursday.
    
    HUTCH: Well, you must have some kind of a special system to drop 30 grand, huh?
    
    MONK: Well, we don't play for bus tokens.
    
    HUTCH: Uh... You wouldn't mind telling me the name of this lucky friend, would you?
    
    MONK: I think not. You see, my crowd's rather put off by these interrogations. Unlike myself, of course.
    
    HUTCH: Does your accountant know about this loss?
    
    MONK: It's such a trifle. It's hardly enough for a decent auto.
    
    HUTCH: But plenty for a first-class mechanic, huh?
    
    MONK: Careful, Sergeant. That's very close to an accusation. But hypothetically, to prove a charge like that, you'd have to establish a-- a solid link between the contractor and the contractee.
    
    HUTCH: Well, I see you've been doing a good deal of thinking about it.
    
    MONK: I've always believed in brains over brawn. No, old sport. I'm afraid you've got an impossible task.
    
    HUTCH: What's that?
    
    MONK: Well, whoever shot Troy Braddock is probably in South America by now.
    
    HUTCH: Well, I wouldn't count on that, Mr. Monk. You see, I think that that hit man just may have immortalized himself on film. Well... Oh, uh, by the way, your wife: is she still out at the beach house? Assuming, of course, that you're still married.
    
    MONK: Nicole and I shall remain married for life.
    
    HUTCH: Yours or hers?
    
    MONK: Harvey, see the gentleman out.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - In the Torino**
    
    STARSKY: We've been back to almost everybody on that list. I can't believe nobody saw anything.
    
    HUTCH: Well, everybody heard the shot. Of course, they all thought it was a champagne cork.
    
    STARSKY: How many more do we have on that list?
    
    HUTCH: Three.
    
    STARSKY: Great. I gotta get loose for an hour.
    
    HUTCH: For a manicure and a perm?
    
    STARSKY: At 30 bucks a day, I gotta figure out  some way they'll take that tuxedo back.
    
    HUTCH: Price keeps going up.
    
    
    **Exterior – Day - Pruitt's Apartment**
    
    STARSKY: What was the number?
    
    HUTCH: It's apartment 4 or 5.
    
    MAN: Yeah.
    
    HUTCH: Ah, Miss Pruitt? Sorry. Wrong number.
    
    PRUITT: Yeah?
    
    HUTCH: Miss Pruitt, this is the police. We'd like to talk with you.
    
    PRUITT: Why, sure. Could you give me a couple of minutes to get decent, please?
    
    HUTCH: Fine.
    
    PRUIT: Thank you.
    
    MAN: Huh? 
    
    STARSKY: Oh, sorry. Wrong number.
    
    PRUITT: Yeah?
    
    STARSKY: Miss Pruitt, this is the police again. Just how long do you think it will it take you to get decent?
    
    PRUITT: Just one more minute, okay? I'm almost ready. I promise.
    
    STARSKY: Thank you.
    
    PRUITT: Thank you.
    
    STARSKY: Something smells.
    
    HUTCH: Thanks a lot.
    
    PRUITT: You can come up now. Who is it?
    
    
    **Interior – Day - Pruitt's Apartment**
    
    STARSKY: It's the police, Miss Pruitt.
    
    PRUITT: How did you get in? I didn't ring.
    
    HUTCH: With the garbage.
    
    STARSKY: Man.
    
    HUTCH: You remember the big spender?
    
    PRUITT: Why, yes. Hi, come on in. I hardly recognized you in those threads.
    
    STARSKY: We have a couple of more questions to ask you, Miss Pruitt.
    
    PRUITT: Dora, please. Dora. That's what my friends call me.
    
    STARSKY: Dora.
    
    PRUITT: Would you two like some beer?
    
    STARSKY: No, thank you.
    
    PRUITT: Champagne maybe? I copped a bottle from that party we went to the other night. I didn't even know that you two were cops until afterwards. I thought that you two were a couple of real society swells.
    
    HUTCH: Well, clothes do make the man.
    
    PRUITT: Would you two like to sit down? I got these two chairs here.
    
    STARSKY: No, thank you. Miss, ah, Dora, we know you already gave a statement, but you were serving drinks right near where Mr. Braddock was hit.
    
    HUTCH: Did you see or hear anything?
    
    PRUITT: No. I did hear the champagne popping. But, see, I don't see too good. I was thinking of going out and getting some glasses to wear but I don't think it would fit my image, if you know what I mean.
    
    STARSKY: You wouldn't want the guys to think that you were a stuck-up intellectual.
    
    PRUITT: That's right. You two boys ever wanna get together and just kind of have a couple of laughs sometime? I make some absolutely beautiful lasagna.
    
    HUTCH: Actually, I'm a family man, Dora. But Starsky here is crazy about lasagna.
    
    STARSKY: Well, actually, I'm going steady right now.
    
    HUTCH: He likes to mess around.
    
    PRUITT: When you're messing around...
    
    STARSKY: Okay.
    
    PRUITT: Bye. (on phone) Hello?
    
    MONK: What are you doing still here? You're supposed to be in Rio by now.
    
    PRUITT: I was just about to call you. Look, there's been a hitch. I'll need some more cash.
    
    MONK: That is out of the question. We've made our deal. You agreed I'd never hear from you again.
    
    PRUITT: There's a loose end. I'M gonna need some more money.
    
    MONK: What's this about a photograph?
    
    PRUITT: They don't know what they've got and I don't wanna take any chances.
    
    MONK: I can't raise any more cash. The police have just been snooping around already.
    
    PRUITT: I'll have to buy the negative. It'll be about $20,000.
    
    MONK: That's your problem.
    
    PRUITT: My problems are your problems, Monk.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Fletcher's Apartment**
    
    STARSKY: Gotta be something on that picture. 
    
    HUTCH: Well, maybe it's there. We just can't see it.
    
    STARSKY: Marcie, can you make a blowup of this thing?
    
    FLETCHER: Hey, do you know how much high poly-contrast paper sets me back?
    
    HUTCH: I'll get it.
    
    STARSKY: How much?
    
    HUTCH: Yeah, Burke.
    
    BURKE: Visitor for Miss Fletcher.
    
    HUTCH: Sorry, Miss Fletcher's busy right now. You wanna wait?
    
    WREN: Oh, no, no. Don't disturb her if she's busy. it's just a minor business matter. Would you tell her that I'll call? Greta Wren. Thank you.
    
    HUTCH: Miss Wren? Uh, don't I know you from somewhere?
    
    WREN: I doubt it. I don't often forget men with such well-honed features
    
    HUTCH: Well, I can't- Thank you very much. I can't exactly remember where it was, but-
    
    WREN: Did you ever drive a cab in New York City? That's where our editorial offices are.
    
    HUTCH: Well, not in this life.
    
    WREN: Oh. Too bad. Just tell her I'll call, would you?
    
    HUTCH: Sure. 
    
    WREN: Thank you so much.
    
    STARSKY: Wait a second. 
    
    FLETCHER: Who was that?
    
    HUTCH: Some lady named Greta Wren.
    
    FLETCHER: I'll be right there.
    
    HUTCH: She left.
    
    FLETCHER: Oh, terrific.
    
    STARSKY: What's the matter?
    
    FLETCHER: I've had it.
    
    HUTCH: She said she'd call you back.
    
    FLETCHER: She'd better. With my News World deal blown, she's my best bet for a decent sale.
    
    STARSKY: Two people wiped away, you're worried about your portfolio?
    
    FLETCHER: Well, if I don't worry about it, who will? You two?
    
    HUTCH: Adorable Dora. The lasagna queen.
    
    STARSKY: What's that?
    
    FLETCHER: What?
    
    STARSKY: That.
    
    FLETCHER: A shadow.
    
    HUTCH: Just blow up that section, will you?
    
    FLETCHER: As large as you want, officer.
    
    STARSKY: A silencer.
    
    HUTCH: Adorable Dora isn't so adorable.
    
    
    **In** **terior – Day -** **Pruitt's** **Apartment**
    
    LANDLADY: Any wrong moves and I'll wallpaper the room with you. Now show some real smarts. Put the lead on the bed.
    
    STARSKY: Relax, lady. We're police.
    
    LANDLADY: And I'm Tatum O'neal. Now let me see some ID. Real easy. Oh. 
    
    HUTCH: You got a permit for that cannon?
    
    LANDLADY: A permit? I can't even get ammo for it.
    
    STARSKY: Where's the lady that was living here?
    
    LANDLADY: The Dorchester. How would I know?
    
    HUTCH: She moved out?
    
    LANDLADY: Half hour ago. Rent was paid. I didn't ask no questions. Nice girl, though. Kind of figured her for an actress. She had this job as a waitress in a cafeteria but you should've seen her when she got dressed up. Sheesh. Right out of Vogue Magazine.
    
    STARSKY: Vogue?
    
    LANDLADY: It's a lady's magazine, junior.
    
    STARSKY: Vogue.
    
    HUTCH: Did she have a wide-brimmed hat and dress?
    
    LANDLADY: Cosmopolitan. Real cosmopolitan.
    
    STARSKY: Where'd you meet her?
    
    HUTCH: About an hour ago, at Marcie's.
    
    LANDLADY: Wait, wait, who's gonna fix the door?
    
    STARSKY: Call Captain Dobey at precinct nine. He's great with his hands.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Fletcher's Apartment**
    
    STARSKY: I check, Marcie, and the real Greta Wren's been in New York for the past couple of weeks.
    
    FLETCHER: Oh, terrific. So the lady that was so interested in my work was an impostor?
    
    HUTCH: Correction. A hired killer. 
    
    STARSKY: She was after the negative.
    
    FLETCHER: (on phone) Hello. (pause) It's her.
    
    WREN: Marcie? Marcie, are you there? Marcie? Oh, hi. Listen, I called my publisher, and you can have any deal you want. You just name the price. Can you meet me somewhere and bring the negative?
    
    FLETCHER: I'm sorry, Greta, but I've already sold the negative.
    
    WREN: To whom, may I ask?
    
    FLETCHER: Basil Monk was here and paid cash.
    
    WREN: Basil Monk? Well, what did he want with it?
    
    FLETCHER: I'm not quite sure. I think it involves some arrangement with the police concerning the Braddock murder.
    
    WREN: Thank you, Marcie. (end) 
    
    STARSKY: You did just fine.
    
    HUTCH: Look, we've got two men on the door and a car on the street. Just don't go anyplace.
    
    
    **Interior - Day - Monk's Mansion**
    
    MONK: Harvey. Myrtle. Mrs. Hookland! (on phone) Hello, hello? Give me the police. It's an emergency. Hello, hello? This is Basil Monk. There's someone beside my lily pond. Monk, M-O-N-K. A burglar or something. Basil Monk, you know my estate. Come quick. ((end) Harvey! Myrtle! Who are you? 
    
    PRUITT: The white witch. Nobody sees my face.
    
    MONK: Who are you?
    
    PRUITT: Don't you recognize me, stupid? Don't you recognize my voice?
    
    MONK: What do you want?
    
    PRUITT: I want the negative,
    
    MONK: What negative?
    
    PRUITT: I want the negative now,
    
    MONK: I don't have the negative. No, no, no!
    
    PRUITT: I want it right now,
    
    MONK: Don't shoot me! 
    
    PRUITT: Stupid!
    
    MONK: I paid you $30,000, Leave me alone!
    
    PRUITT: The negative!
    
    MONK: Oh, no, No! No! No! 
    
    STARSKY: Click. Click. Click. Lost a little weight, Dora? Olly, olly, in free, Mr. Monk.
    
    HUTCH: Mr. Monk, in case you're worried about your help, Harvey and the group… we gave them the night off.
    
    STARSKY: Speaking of which, what do you have on for tonight?
    
    HUTCH: Oh, my blue bowling shirt, my good jeans, brown sneakers.
    
    
    **Interior - Night - The Pits**
    
    HUTCH: Hey, hey, hey. 
    
    STARSKY: What?
    
    HUTCH: Here is to Marcie and her first, I don't know, her first commercially photographic success.
    
    PAULA: With the whole story, News World made a deal that'll make her famous.
    
    STARSKY: And rich. Why aren't you picking up the tab?
    
    FLETCHER: I figured two guys who practically live in tuxedos could handle a round.
    
    HUTCH: To tell you the truth, I-I- I kept my tuxedo so long they told me to keep it.
    
    STARSKY: They wouldn't take mine for money.
    
    HUTCH: Of course not.
    
    FLETCHER: Yeah, it's a little mangled, but you did a really fine repair job.
    
    STARSKY: Think so? It's the first one I ever owned.
    
    HUGGY: Hey, hey, hey! 
    
    STARSKY: Hey, Mr. Bear.
    
    HUGGY: If you two guys looked any sharper, you'd be black.
    
    PAULA: What is this?
    
    HUGGY: Compliments of Huggy's Pits, where the beer always has a head and the host sometimes has a heart.
    
    STARSKY: It's a baby.
    
    FLETCHER: Whoa. All right.
    
    PAULA: Well, come on.
    
    HUTCH: It's champagne.
    
    HUGGY: Well, what'd you expect? Aftershave lotion or some other weird potion? Nothing but the best for my two friends.
    
    STARSKY: Mr. Bear, you forgot to remove the price tag.
    
    HUGGY: Well, I never said it was imported.
    
    HUTCH: Thank you very much.
    
    STARSKY: Yes, thank you.
    
    HUTCH: Let me just take the top off here and-
    
    FLETCHER: Oh. Wait a minute, wait a minute.
    
    HUTCH: What?
    
    STARSKY: Oh. We're gonna take another picture. Do we want him to be in it?
    
    STARSKY: Smile. Easy, Easy,
    
    PAULA: Hutch, Come on, cool it.
    
    END
    
    


End file.
